


your hideous thing inside

by starstrung



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Intimate Partner Violence, Mentions of Canon-Compliant Murder, Monsterfucking, Rough Sex, The Hunt, implied gun violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: Today, Basira is pretty sure she’s the one being hunted.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	your hideous thing inside

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship depicted here is not a healthy one, and although consent is always implied, there is also a threat of violence. Feel free to backspace out if this is not your cup of tea.
> 
> Thank you to [newsbypostcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard) and [hawkcycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkcycle) for all their help/screaming.

Basira’s not sure who’s hunting who.

Some days she’s close on Daisy’s heels, feeling just one step behind. Basira catches glimpses of her in the landscape ahead, which changes abruptly without her really noticing it — twisting trees to unnaturally quiet meadows to foul marshland. 

When the sky first tore open, Basira spent what felt like an entire day on her knees, praying that her mind would just snap and let her go mad. It didn’t work, of course. She has since stopped looking at the sky.

Today, Basira is pretty sure she’s the one being hunted.

She knows it’s Daisy. There are times when Basira doesn’t sense she’s there, but Daisy always has a way of finding her, like Basira’s her true north. Basira can feel her hounding her steps. There are times she swears Daisy is so close, she can feel her hot coppery breath on the back of her neck. She can see Daisy’s shadow flitting between the dark trees in the corner of her eye.

When it’s finally time to sleep, Basira does a perimeter and sets up camp and lays down in her small tent and waits for Daisy to find her.

  
  
  


It’s hard not to think about the start of it all. The way they fell into each other. It’s the first time Basira realized she didn’t have to lick her wounds alone.

There was that time they came back from a mission, still harrowed by the horrors they’d seen. Or at least, Basira was harrowed. Daisy managed, even then, to seem so unaffected. Daisy was already lost to her then, Basira just didn’t know it yet. 

They’d washed blood off their hands side by side in front of the sink and stitched each other up and laid down in Basira’s bed, their knees slotted together. Basira almost thought they would fall asleep like that, was drifting asleep, and then Daisy’s hand slipped under the waistband of Basira’s underwear, her fingers rubbing arduous circles against her clit. They barely made a sound then, like they still felt like they couldn’t draw attention to themselves, like there were still horrors in the room to guard each other against. At the end when Basira finally came from Daisy’s relentless fingers on her, Basira twisted her head into her pillow, and bit into it, so she could be silent. Then she turned around and did the same thing to Daisy, so that they could both finally sleep.

It doesn’t go that way this time. This time Daisy wakes her up with a snarl that’s loud enough to rumble in Basira’s chest, and then there are claws digging into Basira’s chest, hard enough to break flesh.

  
  
  


Basira doesn’t move. Daisy’s lips are curled into a snarl, her teeth drip. Her face has long been twisted and warped, becoming canine and monstrous. 

Something in those bones is Daisy. Basira tries to recognize her, and she can’t. She wonders if that will make it easier to kill Daisy.

“I found you,” Daisy says, her voice nothing but a discordant growl.

“You found me,” Basira says, and they must both hear the breaking in her voice because something in Daisy’s eyes flickers for a moment, becoming briefly, fearfully human. 

  
  
  


Basira remembers the first time she realized what Daisy was. 

Specifically, it was on her doorstep in the middle of the night, and Daisy was covered in someone else’s blood.

Basira remembers reacting. Something like, “Holy shit!” Or, “What the fuck!” Something cool and collected like that.

At no point does Basira remember asking Daisy whose blood it was. That wasn’t a question that Basira was ready or willing to ask, and those days she was still terrified that Daisy would bolt, would turn tail and leave her, and Basira would have to look at everything they’d done together and realize that she was just as much of a monster as the things they were hunting.

After all, if Daisy is to be the executioner, then Basira’s the judge, and they’ve already shot the jury.

She remembers pulling Daisy inside, and checking her for injuries. Daisy reacted by shoving Basira against the wall hard enough for Basira to see spots. 

“Don’t touch me,” Daisy said.

“So that’s it then?” Basira said.

“Shut up,” Daisy said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Basira said, and pushed Daisy back.

They fought each other in the hallway. There was something animal about it, something desperate and primal that Basira kept feeling under her skin, at the base of her spine, like a prey response. Daisy wasn’t herself, or she was so much more herself that Basira was scared of her. There was something vicious in the way she kept digging her nails hard enough into Basira’s skin to draw blood. There was something even worse in the way that Basira kept letting her.

Basira remembers the look on Daisy’s face when Basira finally managed to pin her down. The living room was a bit of a mess by then, and Basira was sure that the only reason they were still fighting each other was just to give them an excuse to put their hands on each other.

It was only later, after they’d both taken a shower, and washed off the blood and Basira made Daisy come twice just with her fingers and they’d gone to bed that Basira realized that she’d already forgiven Daisy. Basira hadn’t known, then, how not to forgive her.

  
  
  


“I missed you,” Basira says, now. 

Daisy’s claws are still dug in her shoulder, but Basira raises a hand anyway, letting the claws sink in further, and puts a hand to Daisy’s face. There are new harsh lines to Daisy’s face — the Hunt has carved her into the shape of an apex predator, like Daisy wasn’t already perfectly dangerous in her original shape. She hooks a thumb in Daisy’s mouth and brings her closer.

Daisy’s tongue is longer now. It’s hot and heavy and searching as it pushes past Basira’s lips, licking into her. Basira kisses her back, and tells herself that this is just a way of distracting Daisy. 

Daisy’s bloodlust is shifting into lust of a different kind. Her sharp claws tear into Basira’s clothes, her teeth catch on Basira’s headscarf.

“Off,” Daisy says in a low growl. “Get these off. I want you.”

Basira feels such a sudden, violent pulse of heat between her legs that for a moment she feels dizzy with it. And then she’s twisting underneath Daisy, pulling down her trousers, her shirt. She doesn’t normally sleep with her scarf on, but the nights have been cold enough out here that she felt the need to, and besides, she likes being fully dressed just in case. She pulls off her scarf, and then Daisy’s face is immediately in her hair, breathing her in.

“I’ve been smelling you everywhere,” Daisy says. “I’ve been hunting you all day.” Her hips move against Basira’s leg, rutting against her. Basira can feel wetness gathering against her thigh, hears Daisy’s low pleased whine.

Her gun is within reach. She could slip her hand to it without Daisy noticing. This could be over just like that. Daisy would barely feel it. It would be like putting down a dog. It would be the kind thing to do. But Basira’s never been one for kindness when it comes to Daisy.

  
  
  


She only ever saw Daisy cry once.

Basira woke up in the middle of the night, once, and lay there for a few minutes wondering what had broken her sleep. And then she noted her open window, and the small curled up figure at the foot of her bed.

“What,” Basira said, and went to turn on the light.

“Don’t!” Daisy said, and it’s only because Basira had never heard Daisy sound that _scared_ before that she stopped. Basira tried to make out Daisy’s face, but she could only see her hunched over figure in the dark. There was something strange about the way her spine was bent. Daisy heard the wet sound of her breathing, and realized that Daisy was crying.

“Daisy, what’s wrong?” Basira said, through the growing alarm.

“ _I’m_ wrong. It’s me.” Daisy’s voice was barely a whisper. “ _Basira_.” There was a pleading in that voice.

Whenever Basira remembers this moment, she always regrets what she said next.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Basira told her. “I would tell you. I would tell you if you — if we ever went too far. I would know.” It was to convince herself just as much as it was to convince Daisy. 

Because if Daisy was giving her soul to Basira to weigh for sins, she might as well fucking tip the scales in her favor.

Daisy crawled into Basira’s arms, then. Basira had never known Daisy to be small. She filled up any room she was in. To turn your back on her was often a fatal mistake. But that night, Daisy had curled up against Basira and had tucked herself under Basira’s chin beneath the covers and Basira had felt sickened by this sudden display of vulnerability while at the same time feeling a fierce protection over her.

Daisy was gone in the morning. They never talked about that night. But the next time Basira saw her, she could see in Daisy’s eyes that something of her humanity had left, and it wasn’t coming back.

  
  
  


Daisy comes against the heel of Basira’s hand, pressed roughly between her legs, and Basira comes on her own fingers with Daisy’s teeth scraping against the hollow of her neck and her claws scratching lines against Basira’s back that Basira can already feel weeping. It’s desperate and ruthless, and reminds her of their worst nights together, the ones where she was never sure if they hated each other or loved each other.

The next time Basira looks at Daisy, Daisy almost looks human. Her eyes are still amber yellow, her nails are still long and sharp, but when she looks at Basira there is sadness in her eyes and her hands are steady as they take the gun out from where Basira had kept it hidden. Clearly not hidden enough. Daisy knows her too well for that.

Basira lets her take the gun. She watches as Daisy removes the safety. Daisy puts the gun back into Basira’s hand and raises the barrel to rest against her own forehead.

“Do it,” Daisy says, her voice level and calm and trusting.

Basira’s finger is on the trigger. She made Daisy a promise. 

“Fuck you,” Basira says, her voice breaking down the middle.

“We already did that part,” Daisy says.

“You bitch,” Basira spits. “You fucking coward.” She continues to swear at Daisy. Daisy doesn’t flinch. She just closes her eyes and waits for Basira to finally shoot her.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/star_strung).


End file.
